Teacher's Don't Live in School's
by WickedIsTheWord
Summary: "Then how do they maintain relationships? Mr. Shue couldn't have married Mrs. Shue if he lived in school." He responded. "I thought that's why Schuester was ditching his wife for Ms. Pill, 'cus they could hang out more often." T for cursing, one-shots
1. The First Walk

"Why the Hell are you here?" Kurt hissed, zipping up his jacket. It was Friday, football was over, and it was freakishly cold. Football had been miserable, as all of us had only wanted to run back inside for actual clothing the whole time.

This was going to be awesome. I get to stalk him to his house, then torture him and his Dad. TPing, ding-dong-ditch, an infinite amount of annoyances were possible. Plus, I get to annoy the crap out of him now.

"In case you haven't realized, I have to walk home too. I'm not like teachers, I don't live at school." I explained, shrugging as I followed him out of the school.

"Teachers don't live in school." He huffed, quickening his pace. Oh, so he was going to play that game, huh? Well, two can play that.

"Of course they live there. How else do they get their work done?" I persisted, walking leisurely next to him. He had to be half a foot shorter than me and though he's a damn good runner, I have longer legs.

"Then how do they maintain relationships? Mr. Shue couldn't have married Mrs. Shue if he lived in school." Kurt responded, refusing to look at me. I _knew_ that this would be worth walking with the King of Queers.

"I thought that's why Schuester was ditching his wife for Ms. Pill, 'cus they could hang out more often." I mused, smirking. Kurt looked directly at me, his blue-green eyes ice cold. Is it me, or did the temperature just drop 5 degrees?

"Why do you take divorce so lightly? It can't be the best experience for anyone." He asked, raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. I thought tweezers were for chicks.

"Meh, my parents went through it. Good reason though, the bastard murdering all the lovely woodland creatures. And some drug dealers." I shrugged indifferently, but it still stung.

Who has a father who takes pleasure in killing rabbits and dealers who don't give them enough 'stuff'? It's just messed up, especially when you have a young daughter. Thank God that Sis doesn't know.

I remember my Dad being MIA after my Mom told him she was leaving him. My Mom was waiting with divorce papers for a year. I guess he'd rather be apart and married than just plain gone.

Next thing I knew, Dad's in jail and no longer really related to me. Hell, I didn't even know why Dad was really in jail. Mom didn't want to tell me anything to avoid corrupting me – too late for that, I corrupted myself – but then my Mom came clean on the anniversary of a year of him being in jail.

"Ouch." He said, stopping to cross the road. I was now going the wrong way to my house, but what the hell.

"I thought you had a car." I told him, shivering. Nice, warm car heaters and no wind… Then again, would I be desperate enough to ride in a car with him? To anyone else I'd say 'no-friggin'-way', but I knew that in reality, I'd already be in his car by now. Even if it's a girly car.

"Mm, you can ask Mercedes about that one." He said bitterly, sprinting across the street. I followed casually, putting an extra swagger into my step and winking at one of the people in a car.

Annoyed when he didn't say anything for a minute, I asked, "What about your 'rents? You never talk about them." I hate one-sided conversations. It's like talking to yourself. Well, it _is_, but that's not the point.

He only murmured something under his breath and hurried to another cross section. Seeing no cars, he was about to cross when I spot a pair of headlights swerve around the corner.

I threw an arm out because I'm a nice person. I wouldn't even let a gay-lord get hit by a car. Coach Sue and Tanaka? That's a different story. They would be asking for it.

He looked at me with an alarmed face, pretty much asking, "Why are you putting your arm across the chest of a faggot?" Well, actually, he probably wouldn't call himself a fag, but still.

"What are you doing?" He asked carefully, tilting his head to a side like a dog. Probably a King Charles spaniel or whatever. He seems to like things with long names.

"Your Mom," I replied as the car skidded by. I expected his expression to relax as he realized I had practically saved his life, but instead it was contorted in anger.

"Necrophiliac." Kurt whispered angrily, sprinting across the walkway. What had I done? God, take a joke, honestly. I was forced to chase him, wasting my energy.

Why was I even following him again? Oh, right, it was supposed to be fun. Frankly, this part sucked.

I caught up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder and gripping his jacket tightly so that he couldn't run away. "What are you going to do, toss me in the trash? That's original." He sneered as he struggled to get out of my grip.

"What did I do, for real?" I asked, beginning to pick him up. God, he was so small. It was funny to see him jump onto the tips of his feet to avoid suffocation by Dolce & Prada or whatever the hell it's called.

"Don't ever insult her! Say a damn word about her and I will rip your throat out!" Kurt shouted, giving a successful kick to my shin, forcing me to put him down. As I hugged my knee, I realized that he was a kicker for a reason.

"Sorry, sorry! Why so seri- I mean touchy, about your Mom?" I corrected as he glared at my Joker reference. He looked away and brushed his bangs out of his face. Frowning, I continued, "What's wrong, dude. Or dudette. Whatever you prefer."

He gave me another icy glare, and I think the temperature went down another 5 degrees. "Since when did you have control of the weather?" I muttered, to his bewilderment.

"I'll stick with dude for now. On my Mom, I'd rather not talk about it." He said, turning back to me as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Then he started walking again. Why can't he just spill the god-damned beans?

I walked alongside him, nodding, trying to prove to him I wasn't as much of an idiot as he thought I was. Finally, I looked at him and asked, "Oh. What was it? Suicide, abuse, abandoned, mur-"

"Try cancer. I was six. I don't remember her in the least." He said, cutting me off. I looked straight at him and realized something immediately – he was lying. I bet he remembered a bunch of things about her, they were just too painful to bring up.

As we crossed another street, we reached a small neighborhood. It was nice; the houses were small but pretty. "Look, do you want to talk about how your Dad took joy in shooting bunnies or whatever he did?" He asked, crossing his arms to conserve warmth.

It was funny, the place looked a lot like my neighborhood, but we went the wrong way. "Erm, not really." I confessed, resting my hands behind my neck. Does anyone want to talk about that? Well, maybe Karofsky, but he was dropped on his head a child. Many times.

"That's my point. Maybe if we knew each other a bit better, but only maybe. Right now, you're basically a stranger. Offense intended." He admitted, lifting and dropping his right shoulder.

"None taken anyway. I've had worse insults. Ya know, this looks damned similar to my neighborhood…" I told him, looking around. Then I stopped in shock. That was my freakin' house! What the Hell?

"You don't think I'd lead you to my house, did you? It's bad enough with dumpster dives and pee balloons, I'm not going to have any dog crap lit on fire on my front door-step." Kurt smirked as he stopped and stared directly up at me, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

That's when I realized I'd lost. I wasn't even playing, but I lost. Damn. I guess he was smarter than I'd thought. It was actually kinda funny, if you think about it the right way.

"I'm guessing I'll be seeing you Monday then?" He asked, smiling lopsidedly. I laughed slightly, knowing he had outsmarted me. He'd led me in a circle. Or a square. Might've been a rhombus or pentagon for all I care.

"I think so." I replied, walking up to my house, glancing back as I saw him saunter off, a smile still on both our lips. Once inside my house, I heard my sister screaming. They must be watching 'Schindler's List' again.

I was still smiling as I unzipped my jacket, when I suddenly realized an extremely creepy, unnerving factor. How had Kurt known where I lived?

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

AU: Thanks for reading my story. It's going to be a series of one-shots, but not one story. Just different little segment. I'd like to thank the marvelous Hup123hup123slapslap for beta-ing it. Hope you enjoyed!

-rOSEY


	2. Supposed Proof

Disclaimer: Did any of you buy me Glee for my birthday? I doubt it. So therefore, I still don't own it.

I crept around the corner of the wall, super-spy-like. I needed proof that teachers did live in school and I was going to get it. Heck, I even had my phone out and ready to go.

Kurt said he'd only tell me the secret of how he knew where everyone lived if I admitted that teachers don't live in schools. But, the Puckster's no liar, and he's always right.

I'm pretty damned sure that demons live in Hell, so therefore, teachers must live in schools. I mean, it's logic. And not the weird logic-y complimicated stuff they try to get me to do in Algebra.

I slipped into one of the classrooms, smiling as I saw my target: Mr. Shue. He was even wearing his pajamas! ...I guess teacher's wear their names on their pajamas. Or maybe it's some sort of ritual.

I was just creeping up to the door when Ms. Pill bumped into me. She gave a little shriek and pointed at my shirt. Looking down, I shrugged. It was a slushy stain from when I threw one on Aretha today.

"Oh, I-I need to go wash this and take a shower and — oh no, it got on my pin." She mumbled, scurrying off to the ladies restroom. A while later she walked out, elbows tucked in and hands up near her face.

I turned to face the door again, shrugging. She was weird. And dressed in normal teacher-ish clothes. Maybe she left her pajamas in her office… Who cares?

I looked through the window of the door and saw Mr. Shue with a mop. Weird. Do they have to clean their sleeping space?

I had flashbacks to some creepy British TV show I'd watched when I was bored. The teachers were aliens, giant bat-like things, and they ate children. They also made them smart with fries.

We hadn't had fries in a long time, nor did anyone want to eat them, so I was clean. I slipped into the room, cringing at the sight of it. I didn't even want to be in school on average hours so why was I here now?

Oh, right. Damn Kurt. But I can't sleep safely with the knowledge that he could just appear at the door. It's just weird and stalkery. He was already kinda like that. Now it was worse.

"Puck! What are you doing here?" Shuester asked, holding the mop up like a defense. Since it's so damn terrifying. I'm practically quivering.

Is that the best he's got?

_Like a piece of wood and string could defeat these guns_. I thought, looking at my arms. No wonder MILFs and teenage girls loved me. Who wouldn't, right? But then there was heart sunk as I thought of _her_.

"Puck, are you just physically here?" I heard Shue ask, waving a hand in front of my face. Personal bubble invasion, much?

I glanced over him, smiling as I brought up my phone and snapped a picture of him. Then put a label beneath it: _**Exhibit A: Teacher Within School, Cleaning Sleeping Area in Pajamas**_. I clicked a button and set my phone on record, holding it up to Mr. S's face.

"Is it true that you rarely leave the school?" I asked, putting on my best detective face. We'd read Sherlock Holmes in English, so this had to be the power of destruction or whatever he calls it.

"What are you doing Puck?" Mr. Shue asked, tilting his head to side, slightly alarmed.

"Just answer the questions, sir. When do you leave school?" I continued, thrusting the phone farther into his face, causing him to take a step back in surprise.

"Puck, why are you here? There's no football practice, and you hate school. You didn't even show up to my class today." He continued, trying to lower the phone.

"I'll ask the questions here, mister. Now, do I have to repeat my inwirey- inliaree- inquiry?" I asked him, lifting up my hand as I struggled to remember the right word to use.

"Well, I have to leave to eat-"

"Do any of those meals include children as one of the courses?" I asked, putting on my bad-ass face.

"Puck, do you have a fever or something?"

I cut him off, asking, "Do you stay in school overnight?' My face was still dead serious when Shuester began to laugh.

"Laughter often covers up insecurity. Does that question make you feel nervous?"

"No."

"Do you plan on leaving your wife for Pillsbury so that you can spend more quality time together?"

"Are you serious Puck? My wife's pregnant! I mean, really-"

I raised my other hand to stop him. "Avoiding the question. One only does that when they have something to hide. You're an honest man, why should you have to lie? That is, unless you don't want to answer that question. Do you live at school?"

I smirked as a stunned look crossed his face. "Wha- Puck, you can't mean that you still believe that silly old tale that you thought up in kindergarten!"

"When someone demeans something, fifty-two percent of the time it's because they're doing it to cover up the truth."

"Where did you get that statistic?"

Knowing fully well I'd made it up on the spot, I merely said, "That's confidential. You'd have to talk to the head of my office."

"Puck, you don't work for anyone. You can't even hold a real job. That's why you clean pools for a living." He replied, looking away.

"Avoiding eye contact _and_ the question. Very interesting." I glanced at my phone. I only had fifteen seconds left to record, so I needed to wrap this up. Fast.

"I'm afraid that's all the time I have now, sir. I'll be keeping my eye on you." I used two fingers to point at my eyes and then at his chest as I switched off the recorder.

"Puck, I'm the adult. I'm supposed to be in charge of _you_. Where were you during my class anyway? You turned up for the rest of your periods."

I managed to refrain from making any PMS jokes as I could still get a detention and I had to watch my sister tonight. Wednesdays were Mom-goes-hysterical-and-starts-crying-about-our-bad-ass-father-leaving-us-since-he-liked-getting-high nights.

I took another shot of the floor he had mopped and labeled it: _**Exhibit B; Teacher's sleeping area— must be extremely clean. Dirt makes them burn up and head straight to Hell [where they belong].**_

"Let's just say I had a date with Rhodes in the locker room." I told Schue with a wink. I liked April. She had the same blonde hair as Quinn, making it so much easier to pretend that they were one and the same.

Noting the chairs piled up on the tables, I took another picture: _**Exhibit C; Chairs moved away for more sleeping space, as 'teachers' are much larger in their natural form**_.

"Puck, you do understand that I can't let you leave the school now." Mr. Schue said, stepping towards me. "What you're, erm, _doing_ with April is ille-"

I only caught the first sentence though, since I was already running like Hell out of the school. I didn't want Shuester to hunt me down and eat me for uncovering his secret. Why else would I not be able to leave?

I stopped before the door, glancing behind me. All clear, for now. I looked out the window and saw Kurt sitting on the side of the school, head in his hands. Oh right, he threw up on Ms. Pillsbury today.

"Yo! Hummel!" I shouted as I burst out the door. Seeing him whirl around to face me was kinda funny. He was wearing that crappy designer stuff again. Fairy freak. He's the only one to wear that funky stuff.

"Oh, Puck. Hi. Can you stop shouting? I have the hangover from Hell." He groaned, massaging his forehead. Judging from the damage, it had to be his first one. Hangovers get easier the more you have them. I'd know.

"Alright, what do you want?" He finally sighed, straightening his back. He crossed his arms and started tapping his feet impatiently. "If you're under the impression that I'm walking you home like a five year-old again, you're way off."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I know how to get you said I'd have to come to terms with the teachers living at school crap, otherwise you'd never tell me how you know where I live. I need to stop checking for you under the bed, like Finn does with Rachel , here's your proof."

I proudly handed him my phone, playing the audio while he flicked through the pictures. It's a bit pitiful how ridiculously happy I was. I'm like Rachel when she gets _another_ solo...I think I just threw up in my mouth.

Once the audio finished, Kurt stared at my phone in shock. "I know, right?" I said, taking the phone from him. But he still didn't move. It_is_ rather traumatizing to find out that your favorite "teacher" is a monster that eats children.

Then, Kurt's head jerked up and he started glaring at me. First step of something traumatic: denial. That was _so_ what he was going through right now. Well, that's what I thought until he opened his mouth.

"Jews are known for being smart. Glad to see you're breaking the stereotype."

Thanks for the support! Sorry it took me so long to update; I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. I'm so sad Glee ended though… So thanks for reading, and reviews are GREATLY appreciated!

-Rosey


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